


Only for You

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Collaboration, F/M, Light Smut, Marriage Proposal, NSFW Art, Secret Relationship, Valentine's Day, romantic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: When Draco Malfoy sets his mind to something, there’s no changing it—including a surprise proposal at the Valentine’s Day gala.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 16
Kudos: 116
Collections: Box of Chocolates





	Only for You

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Box_of_Chocolates](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Box_of_Chocolates) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Secret Relationship / Proposal - NSFW
> 
> Hello! First, thanks so much to LadyKenz347 and Kyonomiko for hosting this fic! Second, my lovely artwork was created by SamadiW and you can find their work on [Tumblr](https://samadiw.tumblr.com/)!  
> Finally, this piece was not alpha-read or beta-read. It toes more the line of romantic with a softie Draco than NSFW, so I hope it doesn't disappoint. Thanks for taking the time to read!

**Only for You**

“Hermione Jean Granger, will you marry me?”

Flash bulbs pop around Hermione, a quiet tension underlying the sudden loss of chatter that hangs in the air around her. She’s never known that one can hear silence so profoundly. 

Or that a ring could shine so _brightly_.

Malfoy—Draco… he’s been Draco for a while now—peers up at her, a slight twinge of panic rippling across his features. 

Well, he _had_ told her it was going to be an eventful ball. 

A hundred things flit through her mind: he’s ridiculously handsome all the time, but the way the flash illuminates the cut of his cheeks is superb; Harry is going to _murder_ her for not making him aware of the upgrade in their relationship status when he's worked so hard to keep her and Draco under wraps; why _here_ of all places? 

“I—” She swallows, a knot in the back of her throat threatening to steal her voice entirely. In an undertone, she directs her question to Draco; all of the reporters leaned in towards them. “Draco, are you _sure_?”

It’s a loaded question, which Draco well knows, and the brief bob of his throat reflects his apprehension, but he nods anyway. He works his jaw, his mouth falling open as he glances between her and the reporters.

“Don’t you dare, Draco Malfoy,” she warns, but that rare, genuine grin quirks his lips, and he clasps her hand anyway.

The reporters all seem to be marionettes on the same string, each of them leaning forward in tandem with their Quick Quotes Quill hovering alongside them.

“Hermione, in the last two years, we’ve managed to keep our relationship a secret from most everyone, and you’ve helped me learn more about myself than anyone else. You’re ridiculously stubborn, and your hair might yet strangle me”—the reporters around them chuckled politely—“but there’s no one else I’d rather risk certain death with every night. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Bugger it all, even if she _wanted_ to turn him down, she couldn’t. Not after a speech like that, not when his smile reaches his eyes, the first genuine smile she’s seen on him outside of their flat.

Even if they hadn’t discussed this at _all_ beforehand. 

She would, however, make sure he never lived it down.

And so, despite herself, she nods, allowing him to slip the ring onto her finger as the flashbulbs go wild once more and reporters pushing into their personal space to get a quote, but he wraps his arms around her waist and turns on the spot, Disapparating them from the Valentine’s gala.

* * *

“Did you have to propose in front of the _entire_ flock of Ministry reporters?” Hermione grumbles, throwing her purse down. She’s already peeling out of the ridiculous monstrosity that Pansy had forced her into earlier in the day.

He follows shortly behind her, his footsteps falling in the empty space hers had just left. “I told you I was tired of hiding, Granger.”

A flush of heat races through her cheeks, and she turns to him, searching his gaze. “I am, too, but your father—”

Draco tips her chin up, planting a kiss on the bow of her lips. “I don’t care about my father. We’ll meet what comes whenever he decides on his next step. All our friends know. Mother knows and approves—regardless, all I care about is being with you.”

Hermione leans into him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Carefully, her fingers trail down the front of his oxford as she slips the buttons free. “You have to know that you won’t get away with that.”

“Fully aware,” Draco mutters, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of her neck. “Fortunately, I’m a forward-thinking man and sealed the Floo connection, so I figure we have at least the rest of the night before our friends begin beating our door down to demand answers.” 

His teeth latch on her earlobe, drawing a soft sigh from her. “Sometimes I miss the days when you were intimidated by me,” Hermione complains. The soft fabric of his shirt pools at his feet when she pushes it from his shoulders. “And other times I just rue the day you and George became friends.”

“You love me,” he whispered, trailing a finger over her collarbone. 

She can't deny it, and it melts some of the shock that had frozen her. His hands are gentle on the swell of her hips, but the look in his eyes sets her ablaze. When he captures her lips with his, all her protests are forgotten—for the moment. 

Their dance down the hall is a well-choreographed memory of hundreds of others, and though she has a hundred questions about how they’ll manage this new-found dynamic, the sudden and inexplicably public nature of their relationship, Hermione finds herself smiling through their kisses, and when he tips her onto the mattress, she sinks her fingers into his hair. “Hi.”

His teeth gleam in the low light of the hallway. “Hi.” 

He cages her in, fingertips digging into the mattress on either side of her head. Cold and unexpected, a rush of insecurity steals up her spine, and she falters. “Did you mean it?”

Confusion marrs his brow, and it’s only the slight tremble of her left hand, the heavy weight of an heirloom ring unfamiliar to her, that answers him. “Of course I meant it.” He leans back onto his haunches, but he gathers her into his arms before she can mourn the loss of his warmth. “Why would you—”

“It’s just so sudden,” she blurts, sucking her lip between her teeth. This territory is unfamiliar for both of them—so insular, their relationship hasn’t tested the waters of publicity, and Hermione can’t help her fear that it’s all just for show. “I know it’s tiresome, but I don’t want you to regret whatever comes of everyone knowing.” 

He smooths her hair back from her face, tipping her chin up. Only when she looks up to meet his gaze does he speak. “Hermione, I’ve loved you for years—since before we were together, before you would even spend five minutes in a room with me. And it’s only been solidified in the past few years. Ours wasn’t a conventional start, but I didn’t lie.” 

Her fingertips tremble when he reaches for them, brushing his thumb over the ring. “I didn’t want to say this when the reporters were listening, but this ring is more than just a family heirloom. It’s the ring my father proposed to my mother with—long before he lost himself to the Dark Lord. Their love may not have lasted, but I have faith in us.” 

Hermione swallows, tears blurring her vision. “Draco, I—”

“I meant every word of it, Hermione. And I understand that you’re upset that I sprung it on you, but I didn’t want to wait any longer. You’re the witch I want to spend my life with—every minute of it. And my father needs to know that he can’t continue to try to blackmail me into doing what he wants.” Draco heaves a sigh. “So while I’m sorry that it wasn’t ideal and what you wanted, it was genuine. If you’ll have me, I want to marry you.”

A watery sob escapes Hermione, but she leans forward and presses her lips to Draco’s anyway. “You’re a prat, but of course I accept.” Their kiss is sweet if a little lingering, and Hermione draws him down beside her. His head rests on his pillow—in his spot, the one he’s occupied for months now and which Hermione can’t imagine empty of him. “If you’d have told me two years ago that Draco Malfoy was a softie, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

He huffs a laugh, twirling a curl around his finger. “Only for you, Granger. Only for you.”

They fall together as naturally as they always have—a tangle of lips and limbs that set a fire burning low in her stomach following the brush of his fingers.

When he slips inside her, Hermione arches into him. Their movement is languorous and Hermione finds herself lost to it, wrapped in Draco’s arm as he buries his face against the curve of her neck.

He peppers whispered praises along the flesh of her neck, over her shoulders and between the valley of her breasts as he moves within her, and though they barely move, Hermione finds herself toeing the edge of pleasure as he palms her breast. 

When his lips brush hers again, his whispered request sends her over the edge: “Together?” 

A singular thrust and light tug of her hair tips her over the edge, and Draco follows her over with her name on his lips.

In the aftermath, they lie twisted together, Draco tracing idle patterns over her stomach.

“I’m still mad at you,” she says, kicking her feet free of his to pull the covers overtop of them.

His chuckle reverberates through her as he tucks her to him again. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Draco.” 

Happy Valentine’s Day, Hermione.”


End file.
